My tongue is the prisoner of words unspoken.
Bound by the shackles of self doubt,
these jail bars I call teeth clash down
finally sealed by my lips.
And inside, in the dark
an unasked question, an opinion, dies away.
Its ashes leave a bitter taste.
My eyes lets the soul of my words escape.
It diffuses into the air and hangs there, indecipherable by another heart.
I have often asked for what sin is my tongue serving a sentence?
And how can I ever acquit it,
when I play two roles
first of the judge that slams the gavel down at every hearing
second of the lawyer pleading in defense.
My tongue dreams of freedom
while my words dream of echoing in mind other than my own
The prisoner of unspoken words lies in waiting
And its only redemption
is my indifference to the opinions of others.
[The idea for the poem came to me one night just as I was desperately trying to scrape at sleep. But due to my lack of stationary items and the comfort of my bed I let it be. The following day I started typing it out on my train ride. But it was far from complete. It took me another month to get back to it and pen the rest. A month more to add the finishing touches. And finally three years later it's been published online. Procrastination is deadly.]
Bound by the shackles of self doubt,
these jail bars I call teeth clash down
finally sealed by my lips.
And inside, in the dark
an unasked question, an opinion, dies away.
Its ashes leave a bitter taste.
My eyes lets the soul of my words escape.
It diffuses into the air and hangs there, indecipherable by another heart.
I have often asked for what sin is my tongue serving a sentence?
And how can I ever acquit it,
when I play two roles
first of the judge that slams the gavel down at every hearing
second of the lawyer pleading in defense.
My tongue dreams of freedom
while my words dream of echoing in mind other than my own
The prisoner of unspoken words lies in waiting
And its only redemption
is my indifference to the opinions of others.
[The idea for the poem came to me one night just as I was desperately trying to scrape at sleep. But due to my lack of stationary items and the comfort of my bed I let it be. The following day I started typing it out on my train ride. But it was far from complete. It took me another month to get back to it and pen the rest. A month more to add the finishing touches. And finally three years later it's been published online. Procrastination is deadly.]
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